I remind myself to pick up some flowers for my desk at lunch. They might not be pending deals, but they will still bring some life to the barren surface. Marti is hunched over her laptop, a coffee in one hand while the other darts around on the mouse. “Morning, Zo.”
I hate being called Zo. Always have. But I’m new to Golden Gate Realty, and residentialrealty in general, and she’s been my mentor, helping me with everything at the office and in this new phase of my career, so she can call me whatever she wants.
“Hey, Marti.” I smile, and as I round my desk I pull my own laptop from my bag. “How’d the showing inthe Presidio go last night?”
“They made an offer by the time I showed them the master bath.” Marti smiles triumphantly. “I told them the client wanted to wait until the weekend to take offers, which made them panic about a potential bidding war, so they upped the offer to five grand over asking. My client took it instantly.”
“Good job, rock star!” I praise her and try not to let that little ripple of jealousy poison my bloodstream. Marti’s been at Golden Gate for a year. She’s been in residential real estate for three years. She’s established. I just moved from commercial to residential last month and have only been at Golden Gate for ten days. I’ll be closing deals on million-dollar homes one day too. Hopefully soon.
“How about you? How’d that lead in the Haight work out?” she asks, absently twisting her light brown hair around her finger.
“They were a nice couple. I think they liked me, and I was fairly confident they’d hire me to sell their place,” I explain and pause before the bad news. “But then I saw another agent buzz their apartment as I was leaving.”
Marti’s eyes cloud over briefly, but it’s long enough that it makes me think the confidence in her words is fake. “Well, you’ve still got that one-bedroom condo listing. I know it’s been a few weeks, but someone will make an offer soon. I know it.”
I stare at the red light blinking on my desk phone and turn to Marti again. “I’m going to run next door for a coffee. Want another? My treat.”
She glances at the phone and back at me. “I’m good.”
I haven’t told Marti the dirty details of my life. She knows I’m separated and that I worked in commercial real estate at Penner Realtyprior to this. She doesn’t know that my soon-to-be ex-husband is Adam Penner, owner of the company. Or that my husband isn’t signing the divorce papers, even though it was his idea to end it.
Marti shakes her head. “One is enough for me this morning, but thanks.”
I nod and make my way out of the office again, smiling serenely at Anastasia, who inadvertently obliterated my chance at a good day, and step back out into the warm early-September San Francisco air. I take a few steps and quickly enter Peet’s Coffee. I look around at the other patrons, mostly businessmen in suits grabbing java before hopping on a trolley to their jobs in the Financial District. I used to love ahandsome man in an expensive suit. That’s what first attracted me to Adam, but now the sight almost makes my stomach churn. San Francisco is full of guys like that or men in skinny jeans, dark-rimmed glasses and ironic T-shirts who are equally rich but made their money in the tech industry. But right now neither look does anything for me, because another relationship is the last thing on my mind. I kind of feel like I am treading water, and a new relationship would be the equivalent of tying a brick to my ankle.
I reach the counter and order a chai latte, and as I step aside to wait, I pull my phone out of the pocket of my suit jacket. Taking a deep breath and letting it out as slowly as possible, I dial Adam’s personal cell.
He must have forwarded it to his office line because his long-time secretary, Minerva, answers in her typical Waspy voice: “Penner Realty, how can I assist you?”
“Hi, Minerva. How are you? It’s Zoey.” Minerva has been with the company since I met Adam. She is an exotic-looking woman with wide brown eyes and sleek, rich hair that is never out of place. She has been warm and friendly toward me since the beginning. So I feel the chill when her tone goes from polite to taciturn. “Oh, hello, Ms. Quinlin. Thank you for calling me back.”
I don’t know why she isn’t calling me Quinlin-Penner anymore. After all, I am still married, and she doesn’t know I’ve dropped Penner. “I was calling Adam back.”
“Yes, Mr. Penner has asked me to handle this for him. He’s busy at the moment,” Minerva explains, her voice still so chilly I feel my flesh prickle. “I need to know the name of your lawyer, so Mr. Penner’s lawyer can be in touch.”
“Lawyer?” I repeat the word in shock. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Oh. Well…” Minerva seems unimpressed. “When you pick one, have them contact J. C. McGuire at McGuire, Milbury and Cherry.”
“Adam and I decided to do this without lawyers. The paperwork is just waiting to be signed.” I tell her what was decided that fateful Sunday afternoon of the worst weekend of my life.
“Mr. Penner has come to the realization that legal dealings should be done with lawyers,” she tells me. “So please let your lawyer know—”
“I’d like to speak to Adam, please,” I interrupt, making sure my voice is still calm and even. “I think it’s best if we have a quick chat.”
“As I mentioned earlier, he’s very busy right now.” Minerva’s clipped voice falters just a little, her tone warming, and she sounds almost guilty for it as she lowers her voice to add, “Zoey, I think you should hire a lawyer and discuss this with them.”
Okay, now I’m not just annoyed, I’m scared. “It’s amicable, and the pre-nup is pretty detailed, and I’m not going to challenge it.”
I hate that I am telling this to her. An administrative assistant. This isn’t her business, it’s between Adam and me. Why is he doing this? Is this his family putting pressure on him? I can hire a lawyer, I guess, but why? The pre-nup was fair, and I don’t want anything more.
“J. C. McGuire,” Minerva repeats. “Would you like me to give you the number?”
The barista slides my latte toward me. I reach for it and give her a quick smile. “No. I know the firm. Adam’s brother, Phillip, used them for his second and third divorces.”
Phillip had been in the process of divorcing Catherine when I was dating Adam; he married Megan before the ink was dry on the divorce papers. Then, about twenty months later, Megan didn’t come on the annual family summer vacation to Tahoe. I was told later they were done. That’s all I was told, because Adam’s family doesn’t discuss their dirty laundry even among themselves. It was a shame. I had liked Megan, but Adam and I were just acknowledging our own marital issues at the time, so I didn’t even try to find out what had happened.
Minerva’s voice gets soft and low again. “Prust and Bissonette are a reputable firm.”
